


Tell Me Again

by dreamofhorses



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Birthday Presents, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 15:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17901017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofhorses/pseuds/dreamofhorses
Summary: And now that you’re here, now that I can just--” Timmy bends down, kisses the back of Armie’s neck, “do this anytime I want, or this,” and he winds two long fingers through Armie’s hair, “I guess I just wanted to make up for all the times I swore I heard it, but it was just in my head. Or so I thought.”Pure, unadulterated fluff as a birthday present for the only person who could make me take a break from writing darkness and murder to write five pages of sweetness and light.





	Tell Me Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lookingforatardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/gifts).



_ February _

 

Timmy wins the snowball fight, but Armie’s pretty sure he cheats. What else would you call it when Timmy ducks to avoid Armie’s pitch, dives for Armie’s shins and knocks them both backward into the snow, and sits up, panting, snowflakes caught in the curls around his ears, fuzz from his knit cap blending into his eyebrows. “You’re my snow angel,” he giggles.

 

Armie rolls his eyes but that just makes Timmy chew his lower lip, furrow his brow. “What? You are!” Timmy pushes playfully against Armie’s chest, rubs the end of his nose where it’s red from the cold, and Armie gives in, just like always.

 

“And you’re mine,” he sighs, closing his eyes for the kiss he knows is coming. It does come, Timmy’s lips warm on his like they always are no matter how cold the rest of him gets.

 

_ Cold _ . There’s an unexpected streak of it crawling up one side of Armie’s neck, and when he pulls away from their kiss Timmy’s eyes are suspiciously already open, one gloved hand pressing a snowball against Armie’s neck. “I win,” he whispers.

 

Armie pretends anger, wrinkles his nose, makes a half-hearted attempt at tickling what he knows are Timmy’s weak spots, but he can’t hold his laughter in. He pulls Timmy down onto him, feels Timmy’s heart beating against his chest like the pulse of a wave on the shore.

 

“Tell me again?” Timmy says, each syllable tickling Armie’s chin with a different one of his curls.

 

“Tell you what?” Armie asks, as if he doesn’t know what Timmy means.

 

“You know,” Timmy whines, biting playfully at Armie’s collarbone beneath its winter layers.

 

“I love you,” Armie whispers into Timmy’s hair, feeling a contented hum against his chest from Timmy in response.

 

“I love you too.”

  
  


_ April _

 

This isn’t the worst thunderstorm of the year, but it’s pretty close. As soon as he heard it was coming, Armie had stockpiled soup, candles, board games to distract Timmy from the noises outside. You wouldn’t think a kid who grew up with subway trains running under his feet would be scared of a little thunderclap, but there you have it. Timmy’s always full of surprises.

 

So far all they’ve needed is the candles, just enough light in Timmy’s tiny bedroom for Armie to read the titles of the records that he’s played nonstop on Timmy’s blue plastic turntable. As soon as one stops he switches it out for another, because the noise means Timmy can’t hear the thunder, can’t get spooked like a puppy on the 4th of July, can’t huddle under the bedclothes and refuse to come out.

 

“Play something happier this time,” Timmy says from beneath the duvet. OK, maybe the huddling under the bedclothes is happening anyway, but Armie thinks that might have to do with the three glasses of wine they’ve each had and the fact that they’re already in their underwear.

 

Armie grabs a Passion Pit record, turns it toward Timmy before realizing Timmy can’t see him. “ _ Gossamer _ OK?”

 

There’s a muffled noise from the bed that Armie chooses to interpret as assent.

 

He puts the record on, leaves the volume at a level where he can still hear Timmy talk, and climbs back under the covers. Timmy’s warm, soft, almost rubbery with drowsiness and wine. “Armie?”

 

“Yes, baby?”   
  


“Tell me again?”

 

“I love you,” Armie whispers, his declaration punctuated by a clap of thunder barely audible over the music. Still, Timmy startles, jumps closer to Armie and drapes a milky leg over Armie’s. 

 

“I love you too. But your leg hair tickles.”   
  


Armie chuckles. “You know, Tim, funny thing.” He feels Timmy stiffen beside him; Armie only calls him “Tim” when he’s being stern, or pretending to. “I was talking to Pauline last week at that dinner with your parents? Mentioned that you were always making a big deal about thunderstorms, terrified of them since you were a kid you said. Pauline looked at me like I grew another head. She said you loved the rain, used to play in the mud during storms. Got me thinking maybe what you really want is quiet nights in the dark and me to hold you when you act scared. Anything to that?”

 

The only answer from the darkness is a throaty giggle as Timmy pulls Armie closer.

  
  


_ September _

 

“OK, that’s the last of it.” Armie sets the box down in the kitchen, wipes sweat off his face with his T-shirt, and realizes it’s already soaked. He shrugs, strips it off, tosses it into a corner. When they’ve unpacked everything he’ll add it to the laundry pile. Until then it can be just another part of the move-in clutter.

 

Timmy appears at the doorway of what will eventually be the bedroom, one hand full of clothes hangers and the other holding a screwdriver. At the sight of Armie with no shirt on, he motions as if to drop everything he’s holding onto the floor for more important pursuits.

 

“Did you want me to carry you over the threshold, now that we finally live together?”

 

“Only if it’s the threshold to the bedroom,” Timmy giggles, eyes still roaming Armie’s torso.

 

When Armie makes a fake lunge toward him Timmy actually does drop everything he’s holding and dodge away into the bedroom, conveniently ending up on the edge of the bed.  _ Their _ bed. That Timmy had made sure was a California King, “ _ because I always want you to feel like you fit _ .” Armie drops to the floor beside the bed, leans his head against Timmy’s knees. 

 

“I love you,” Armie says, to the soft, silky underside of Timmy’s knee.

 

“I love you too. S-Sorry I’m always asking you to say it. It’s not like you don’t already tell me, not like I don’t know. Although I’ll admit now that we’re on a legal document together I do feel a  _ little _ more confident, even if it is just a lease.”   
  


Armie’s cheeks burn at the implication of Timmy’s statement, and he’s suddenly glad he can press his face into Timmy’s thigh and hide his blushing. “Why  _ do _ you always ask me to say it? Half the time I’m about to say it anyway and it’s like you suddenly think I don’t mean it anymore.”

 

“It’s not that, it’s just--it’s that I had to wait so long, you know? You said we couldn’t do anything during filming, it was character bleed, it wasn’t healthy. Then that we needed to take a month away from each other to make sure it wasn’t infatuation. And now that you’re here, now that I can just--” Timmy bends down, kisses the back of Armie’s neck, “do  _ this _ anytime I want, or  _ this _ ,” and he winds two long fingers through Armie’s hair, “I guess I just wanted to make up for all the times I swore I heard it, but it was just in my head. Or so I thought.” At that Timmy’s serious face breaks into a wide grin that lasts until Armie springs up from the floor, covers Timmy’s body in  _ their bed _ with his own, covers Timmy’s grin in an open-mouthed kiss.

 

_ December 27 _

 

“I keep telling you I don’t need gifts!”

 

“And I keep telling you that your complaints about people not buying gifts close to Christmas are now public record, and I’m showing you that I’m better than all of those jerks. Or at least that I love you more.”

 

Timmy grins, shifts on the couch, tries to make room on his lap for Armie’s gift. It’s no easy task with a wriggling puppy in his arms. “Luca, down,” Timmy shouts half-heartedly, for which he’s rewarded with a lick on the nose.

 

“Luca, here!” Armie snaps his fingers and the puppy scampers to his side; it’s already pretty clear which of them will be taking care of the training. Timmy hadn’t really wanted a pet, thought their apartment sounded pretty good as a nice quiet refuge, but when Armie said something in passing about them getting practice at raising something together, Timmy had booked three shelter visits the following weekend. The black lab pup’s hair and mischievous expression both reminded them of Luca, and they’d brought him home in a heartbeat. Armie hands the pup a plastic toy and it settles at Armie’s feet contentedly.

 

“Here, I know it’s small but--” Armie’s apologies are cut off by the concentrated sweetness of Timmy’s gaze, the kiss that Timmy presses to his mouth before even opening the tiny box Armie presses into his palm.

 

It’s a silver velvet box with a subtle pattern, and inside is a silver ring that looks like a rainbow as its shimmer reflects the lights of the Christmas tree. Timmy furrows his brow in admiration, looks at Armie, looks back at the box. He slides the ring out and almost drops it as he discovers it moves, is really two rings set one inside the other so the outside ring spins.

 

“It’s--I know you get nervous sometimes and I thought maybe if you had something to wear always, not just some loan from a fancy jeweler, and maybe if it reminded you of me, it might--help?”

 

It’s hard to tell whether Armie means the last word as a plea, because suddenly Timmy is in his lap, kissing him so hard the puppy gets excited, whines from the floor at the sudden charge of energy in the room.

 

“Oh, Armie, it’s perfect. I love it, I’m going to--” Timmy’s voice trails off as he sees that the outer ring also has an engraving, words that seem to dance and disappear in the twinkle of the festive holiday lights.

 

_ Quando non posso. _

 

_ When I can’t. _

 

Armie knows he doesn’t need to translate for Timmy; they both remember all the words that matter from the language that surrounded them as they learned to love each other. “It’s...it’s if you ever want to ask, if you ever want to hear me say I love you when I’m not there...you can touch this and know it’s telling you even if I can’t.”

 

Their kiss this time is so deep, so calm and so long that the puppy doesn’t even stir beside them.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dreamofhorses42 on Tumblr, come say hi!


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